


The Expedition REDUX

by LooNEY_DAC



Category: Stand Still Stay Silent
Genre: Alternate Universe - Cyberpunk, Alternate Universe - Dark, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-27
Updated: 2020-08-16
Packaged: 2021-01-04 18:09:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 7,829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21201896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LooNEY_DAC/pseuds/LooNEY_DAC





	1. The Omnicidal Council of Psychoactive Psychotic Psions

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [The Expedition](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9647036) by [LooNEY_DAC](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LooNEY_DAC/pseuds/LooNEY_DAC). 

No one ever stood before the Dark Council in the flesh and lived.

This had been a guiding precept of the Council even before they had pushed the rest of the world into a nuclear armageddon from which only they had emerged as victors; this was so even to the day that they Summoned the four Questioners to their presence, more than ninety years later.

Trond Andersen had been killing things since before he could walk, and with a lust for blood, blood and more blood that had brought him to the very top of what was left of the Norwegian Army; now he was old and ready to die, but held his knives at the ready, determined that he’d take at least two of his killers with him.

Taru Hollala was a glorified clerk from Finland whose skill at networking had somehow catapulted her inextricably into this situation where no one with any sense would be anything but utterly terrified; being eminently sensible (as well as a dedicated coward), Taru had thrown up three times immediately before the meeting began, and was ready to fall on her knees and beg for her life at a moment’s notice.

Then there were the driving forces behind this whole proposal, the most feared duo outside the Council itself--Siv “the Butcher” and Torbjörn “the Terrible”, the Vile Västerströms. In sharp contrast to the others, the two of them were as calm as if they were attending one of the meaningless social events in which they so delighted; Siv, in particular, was looking at the Council Member nearest her with the speculative interest that normally meant the person so scrutinized would soon become a subject in one of her laboratories.

Siv’s laboratories were as one-way for visitors as were the Council Chambers.

The Council Members were arrayed in a semicircle around the pit in which the four Questioners stood. The room itself was dark except for the spotlight shining down on the four and the somewhat dimmer lights illuminating each Council Member from below so that they were only visible from the shoulders up; all of the four Questioners but Taru presumed that the Council Members went all the way to the floor despite this.

Torbjörn broke the silence that followed the announcement of their names by the Voice of Doom first. “So,” he said in his cool, reptilian voice, “may I presume that this Summons means that Your Eminences have decided to look favorably upon our proposal?”

Taru’s breath hissed in shock at such arrogance, but the response, when it came, was thus:

“You may; and you would even be correct in that presumption, for once.” The Council Members spoke in perfect unison and in a creepy monotone which Torbjörn took to be obligatory in such a meeting; if they meant to bring a Västerström (by blood or by marriage—no Västerström married a weakling) to the state Taru was already in, they could wait until the world ended around them. Of course, that was why they were all there, wasn’t it? After a pause, they continued, “Unfortunately, though, we have not approved the budget you submitted for it.”

“How much?” Torbjörn’s face could have been carved from stone for all the reaction it showed.

“Fifty percent.”

_This_, at last, brought Torbjörn’s brows up in surprise. Then he shrugged. “It will be more difficult with that limitation,” he said, “but we can manage it.”

“Do so.” The lights bathing the Council Members went out, and the audience was over.

Somehow, Taru managed to keep from blubbering in her gratitude at still being alive until they were out in the street, but then it poured forth in great floods. She was utterly incoherent until the others had manhandled her into a local watering-hole and poured a few drinks down her throat.

“The reduced funding means we’ll have to call in favors to get the crew on loan from our respective militaries,” Siv observed coolly.

Trond smirked. “I can supply a captain and a medic without a problem.”

“I can wrangle a scout and his handler.” This was the first intelligible sentence Taru had managed since the audience; the others were variously glad or at least relieved to see her regain her usual composure.

“And we will supply a foot-soldier and a vehicle, as well as all the provender the mission will require,” Torbjörn said smoothly. Every family tree had a bad branch or two, and this seemed an opportune moment for some sorely needed… pruning.

Taru and Trond looked dubious. “Are you sure a crew of five will suffice?” Taru asked.

Siv waved dismissively. “It will have to. I’m more worried about the instrumentation requirements, since this will almost certainly be a one-way trip.” Good instrumentation was ever harder to come by; wasting it on something like this was almost anathema to someone like Siv. There were tales that she had more regard for the machines in her laboratories than she had for her three children; oddly enough, those who knew her best believed these tales the most.

“The scout I have in mind can supplement or replace some of that,” Taru pointed out. “Besides, I never would have gotten myself involved if it was certain to fail; our team may yet surprise you with what they accomplish.” She was still feeling particularly ebullient in the lingering relief of getting out of the Council Chambers alive, or she would never have dared suggest one of the Vile Västerströms might be wrong about anything.

Trond never cared whose toes he stepped on if it meant he could kill more people; even the Vile Västerströms were wary of trying their usual responses with him, since they weren’t sure their bodyguards could keep Trond from killing them if he so desired. Since he liked Taru, and since he also thought the mission wasn’t necessarily _entirely_ hopeless, he said in his firmest voice, “I decidedly agree. The four crew members we provide will be up for whatever this expedition might throw at them; I presume that _your_ contribution won’t be the part that lets us down?”

“We’ll see,” Torbjörn said hastily, forestalling something pithy and cutting from Siv, since he could see that Trond wanted (nay, was eager for) the excuse to burn off some of the adrenaline he’d built up in the audience. “But for now, I propose a toast: to us!” And for later, he thought to himself, a chastisement for the Finn upstart, and a more removed one for the Norwegian mountain monkey. But that would be for later.

The toast duly drunk, Trond attempted to reassure Taru, who was looking worried again in the aftermath of her incautious remarks. “Don’t worry so. By the time winter comes, we’ll be ready...”


	2. Blue and Yellow (Still) Make Green

Emil Västerström was terribly aware of the brooding presences of his aunt and uncle beside him. Fortunately, the fact that they were his aunt and uncle meant that it would take something relatively (ha, ha, ha) monumental to get them to summarily kill and/or torture him, instead of some vague whimsy of the moment which was their usual reason for such torture and/or murder. _Don’t show weakness,_ Emil told himself, his heart in his throat. _Don’t try to make friends; don’t bring disgrace to the Västerström name_\--again. _Just be punctiliously correct and everything will be fine._

Of course it would be fine; it had to be. He was a Västerström, and no Västerström failed at the task to which they had been assigned. Well, none did and lived, but Emil had no intentions of not living to see his cousins grow up, despite the high mortality rate of anyone who stayed in his aunt’s and uncle’s vicinity for any length of time; in that sense, his risk of sudden death had actually decreased when he’d joined the rump Swedish Army.

With all this in mind, Emil tried to put forth an air of competent professionalism when the Finns finally showed up, extending his hand in collegial courtesy at their approach.

It was a wasted effort: neither took it, the taller, thinner one slinking by him without a word and the shorter, plumper one stopping to mumble something quiet and just as scared-sounding as Emil felt. Well, that at least was a normal reaction to the sight of Emil’s uncle and aunt. The one who spoke also waved rather than accepting the handshake.

Germophobes, then. Well, that was fairly rational in this age, when the radiation Outside had bred super-strains of so many diseases; Emil would respect their custom. He gave a dignified wave in return. “Greetings,” he said in a voice he’d hoped would also be dignified, but which actually wobbled terribly. “I am the ordinance tech on our mission, Emil Västerström.”

“Hi.” The word was barely a breath, but actually getting it out seemed to give her courage to go on. “I’m Tuuri Hotakainen, and this is my cousin, Lalli. He’s our scout, and I’m his handler. He’s mute, and a mutant--he only communicates telepathically, and only to me.” She paused. “You have nice hair.”

“Uh... Thank you?” Tuuri had said that last as though pronouncing a curse upon Emil; as for the rest, Emil wasn’t sure whether she actually believed all the nonsense she had told him or not, but a Västerström never believed in anything that he hadn’t either seen or better yet experienced. Emil wasn’t going to say anything about this now, of course; that would be rude, which was the last thing he wanted his new comrades in arms to think him.

“I’m glad you spilled food all down your front. It’s the only human thing about you.” And with that, Tuuri walked away, joining her silent cousin to help him uncurl from the ball of misery into which he’d crumpled.

Emil deflated. The next to last thing he wanted his new comrades in arms to think him was slovenly, but now they obviously did. Not bothering to turn his head, he asked his uncle, “You let that happen deliberately, didn’t you?” It wasn’t really a question, though Emil framed it as one.

“If you _will_ be fool enough to sleep so long and so soundly as to nearly ruin our schedule, you should count yourself fortunate that I was satisfied with your humiliation rather than one of my more standard punishments.” Torbjörn’s voice was as cool and reptilian as ever.

“The train to Mora is scheduled to leave almost immediately, Herr Västerström,” a nervous voice informed Torbjörn.

“They shall wait for us,” Torbjörn informed her, allowing a hint of ‘why must I tell you how to do your job?’ to enter his voice. “Attend to it.”

The voice got even more nervous, which set tingles of unease down Emil’s spine. People tended to sound like that when delivering bad news to his uncle and aunt, and neither tended to take such news well. “Our--our phones are on the fritz at the moment, sir.”

Torbjörn snapped his fingers. As the bearer of bad news was wrestled away to be subjected to one of Torbjörn’s more standard punishments, Torbjörn raised his voice to be heard over her pleas for a mercy he had never possessed. “You! Tuuri!”

Tuuri looked like she might need to change her pants from the sudden attention paid to her. “Y-y-y-y-y-yes?” she managed to reply through chattering teeth.

“Send that freakish scout cousin of yours off to hold the train for us; and he’d better succeed.” Torbjörn forbore to mention that there was still time to have them both killed and find replacements for them on the crew; he knew he didn’t need to mention such obvious truths.

Without a word from Tuuri, Lalli was off like a shot, Emil not far behind. Deciding to show the youngsters that he was as fit as ever himself, Torbjörn paced Emil, while Taru, Tuuri and Siv followed more sedately, Taru bearing the luggage with the help of a hastily provided hand truck. Emil tried desperately to get his breath back without showing quite how winded he actually was, since Lalli looked like he had barely gotten warmed up by their sprint.

Once they were aboard, Torbjörn told the youths, “We will arrive in Mora in a matter of hours. After a brief stop to gather some equipment from our Headquarters, we shall proceed to the Öresundbron bridge, where we will join your seniors. The five of you will then set off on our expedition. Is that clear?” After a pause, he continued, “Then there will be no need for any of you to disturb us for the remainder of this portion of our journey.”

It was an order; one Emil was most accustomed to hearing, though he knew the Finns might not be. A quick glance reassured him that neither of the two grey-haired youths sitting across from him would try to force themselves on Torbjörn or Siv, but the fixed stare of the thin one brought him to awareness of the deplorable state of his clothing. After a moment that seemed to stretch into infinity, Emil looked down at his stained shirt, sighed, and quietly went off to the nearest washroom to try to rectify his appearance as best he could...


	3. Mission: Suicidal

Mora was the heart of Torbjörn’s and Siv’s power, so the Vile Västerströms were carried from the train to their home in Outer Mora on their usual litter borne by their usual pair of cybernetically augmented men (the results of one of Siv’s more “successful” experiments) while the others wove their way through the crowded, narrow streets on foot; fortunately, Emil could have led the others there blindfolded, even with the few side trips the Finns took in order to window shop, so they reached the gates of the Västerström house with just enough time for the guards to admit them before they had to scramble to leave again for the Dalahästen train to Öresundbron.

That last was a slight exaggeration by the acid tongued Siv; Torbjörn had plenty of time to tell a quivering Tuuri (and a rather indifferent Emil) everything she needed to know about what they were expected to do… and the consequences of failure. This did nothing to reduce the sheer terror coursing through Tuuri, but it was a bit enlightening to Lalli when she conveyed it to him. Also, there was enough time for Emil to visit his three little cousins and for his three little cousins to thoroughly antagonize Lalli, despite Emil’s reprimands.

While they were waiting for Torbjörn to grace them with his presence for their mission briefing, Emil made a few noises that told Tuuri that he didn’t believe in things like telepathy or any of Lalli’s other mental powers, but the two Finns were disinclined to argue the point with him at this time, especially seeing as how there were so many other things they needed to be worried about, like the mission on which they were about to be sent.

The mission itself was fairly straightforward. In the middle of a highly irradiated area in what had been the nation of Denmark, there was a hospital complex that was rumored to hold the key to the great problem of the Nordic survivors: the sterility encroaching on their populations; the team was to travel to this complex and retrieve any and all useful data that they could locate, transmit the data to Mora base if possible, and bring the original materials back to Sweden. That this trip would entail traversing miles of highly irradiated, mutant infested, and otherwise unspeakably hostile territory was left unstated; also, neither Tuuri nor Lalli were particularly inclined to trust that the team would be allowed back into the Swedish Clean Zones once they transmitted all the data they might manage to find.

At any rate, they had to scramble to get from the Västerström house to the Dalahästen station so that they could go join their final two comrades/superiors at their point of egress from Sweden to Denmark: the ancient Öresundbron bridge. Tuuri had looked into what this meant before the Finns had even set out for Sweden, so she knew that this involved being sealed into a big metal tube commonly called “the Death Train” in order to supposedly safely traverse the long stretch of highly irradiated and mutant infested territory between Mora and Öresundbron, and that the chief guarantor of their safety was the speed with which the train traversed said terrain. Again, she was not terribly hopeful.

Despite their earlier behavior, Lalli couldn’t help but note that Emil’s three little cousins seemed genuinely distressed at his departure. Emil hugged them all goodbye (Torbjörn and Siv notably did not), and they set off, Torbjörn and Siv safe in their litter, Taru wheeling the cart with their luggage, and the three youths who were actually going into danger close behind. The other citizens of Mora gave them a wide berth this time, since they could see who was leading the forlorn little parade and had no wish to disappear into one of Siv’s laboratories to see if she could replicate her earlier “success” with cybernetic “augmentation”.

Emil himself was still much less worried about the physical dangers of the mission than the social dangers, as he knew that those could end his life far more certainly than getting squashed by a hungry mutant. After all, killing mutants was what he had been training to do in the Swedish Army, and there was no reason to believe that his training would prove less than adequate. No, he was worried that the two Finns and the other two members of the team would use every means in their power to punish him for being related to the Vile Västerströms, since they had apparently been blackmailed into joining the mission. While they were walking to the station, he was setting his mind to the problem of how to show the Finns that he was nothing like his relatives, unaware that the Finns already knew that quite well from his reactions to Lalli in particular.

The rain started right as they left the house for the station, a cold and heavy rain that made the trip a cold and miserable slog, and this only added to Tuuri’s ever mounting gloom. Lalli ignored her for the most part, as he knew well her tendency to blow things out of proportion, so he didn’t realize how much of a state she’d worked herself into until they were almost at the station, when she asked Lalli to make sure that their names were written correctly on their clothes so that the bodies could be properly identified when they inevitably died en route; Lalli spent the next several minutes talking her down from this bleak certitude.

Their arrival at the station actually made things worse, since Tuuri was convinced that the fact that there were only a handful of other passengers meant that the route was so hazardous that only the foolhardy would risk it. Lalli tried to reassure her as best he could; so did the others, but having a direct line into her brain gave Lalli an edge in that regard, even if none of the others could hear what he told Tuuri. Emil tried, but his efforts were counterproductive enough that he soon gave up. Taru was the second best at the effort; between them, she and Lalli relatively quickly convinced Tuuri that she could trust that the “Death Train” wouldn’t live up to its name this time.

Unfortunately, the trip itself soon proved that Tuuri’s initial fears about the “Death Train” had been quite right…


	4. The Death Train Lives Up to Its Name

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did I mention that this is a **_DARKFIC?_**

The mutants outside howled in Lalli’s brain as the train whipped past where they hid in festering lairs of irradiated filth; fortunately, he was able to keep their cacophony from spilling over the link and into Tuuri’s mind. Lalli flinched as dire memories welled up of a time when one of their family hadn’t been so successful at that…

“Can’t sleep either?” The softly murmured Swedish nonsense was enough to bring Lalli’s mind back into focus.

*

Before the War had broken the world, the deadliest rays the sun emitted had been absorbed and neutralized by one of the upper layers of the atmosphere; while that layer was almost entirely gone now, the sun still poured its deadly, invisible rays out as intensely as ever. Fortunately, the rays were easily blocked by certain special kinds of plastics (among other things); unfortunately, these plastics were both expensive and short-lived: a suit might last as long as a week in the burning sunlight, but certainly no longer than that.

A certain number of plants had reputedly adapted to these conditions, growing hard shells of this plastic (or something very close to it) for themselves each night and shedding or recycling them after the sun set; this beginning of a new ecosystem had not been studied terribly well, as the radiation and the rays were by no means the only dangers in the Wastes.

The Icelanders (untouched as they had been by the War and blessed with nearly limitless energy from the heat below their land) had created a device that blocked the rays over a certain area, but the area was limited per device, and each device was horribly power-consumptive, so even the Icelanders only used it on the inhabited parts of their country; the Danes, confined to their tiny island, could afford comprehensive coverage, but the Norwegians and Swedes only used the devices where they were most needed, preferring to enclose their settlements in protective domes that would also ward against any random idiot finding a working nuke and trying to finish the job the War had begun.

Of course, running a train through the Wastes during the night was an open invitation for any random idiot to attack it so they could get out of the sun…

*

These guys were some of the dumbest chumps Lalli had ever sensed; they weren’t even trying to hide their minds, which was why Lalli was able to point out the exact spot that they were trying to break through to the train guards; furthermore, they were attacking right as dawn was about to break, giving themselves almost no time to actually get into the train if they didn’t want to be fried. They were all obviously complete idiots, but even complete idiots could be decidedly dangerous if left to their own devices.

The head train girl, Agneta, finally caught on to what Lalli was trying to tell her; in moments, most of the train guards (and Torbjörn’s goons) had made it into the comm center at the knuckle joint, and most of them had their guns poised and ready to fire. The doors to the passenger areas had been shut, and a few of the goons were gathered behind them, while Torbjörn and Siv (and Tuuri, Lalli noted in relief) had been hustled deeper into the car.

Emil had not, and was whispering some Swedish nonsense at Lalli again (from his tone, it was probably on the order of “Why aren’t you back in the safe areas with the other passengers?”).

All at once, the part of the ceiling at which Lalli had been pointing exploded in a shower of metal slivers and the bandits began to storm in. Despite the shock of the explosion, the first few bandits into the train were shot down like dogs; since they were obviously mutants, the guards probably considered them worse than dogs. Lalli couldn’t be sure, because as soon as the explosion happened, Emil threw himself against Lalli, driving them away from the newly-formed hole and against one of the walls.

Everything quickly degenerated into a furious melee scrum. But even though goons and guards showed their expertise at hand-to-hand, there just seemed to be no end to the stream of bandits trying to get into the train. _Did they bring a whole village, or something?_ Emil wondered as he manhandled Lalli out of the way yet again.

Eventually, they ended up in a Mexican standoff, guards pinning bandits and vice versa; the leader of the bandits had Agneta in a headlock and was shouting to the goons and the guards behind the doors that led to the passenger areas: “Let us into the inner compartments, or we’ll kill you all.” Desperation laced the bandit’s voice; Emil had no doubts whatsoever that he meant what he said.

Agneta’s face hardened behind her mask. Without taking her eyes off of the bandit leader, she ordered her lieutenant, “Blow the hatch,” and drove her elbow into his stomach.

Emil barely had the chance to get Lalli and himself under cover before the compromised section of the car peeled open, exposing the occupants to the gathering daylight. A few hideous screams told Emil that the intruders (and probably most of the guards) had fallen prey to the deadly rays, but he was more worried about shielding himself and Lalli from inhaling anything that might be radioactive through the makeshift of putting a couple of his handkerchiefs over their mouths. Fortunately, Lalli figured out what Emil was doing after only a few minor struggles that left the kerchief intact.

Just as Emil had begun to relax, two withered hands grabbed Emil’s arm in a death grip. When Emil turned, he beheld the twisted wreck of what had once been a woman—or the upper half of one, at least. Obviously one of the bandits, she was probably already dead from the exposure, but had just enough life left to gasp at Emil, “Help… Help me…”

Acting on pure instinct, Emil screamed, one fist lashing out to smash at the hideous face that had mouthed the words. The head burst like an overcooked melon, which it almost was, making Emil’s gorge rise. _I’m gonna throw up—I_ can’t _throw up: it’ll_ wreck _my kerchief and I’ll_ die—_I’M GONNA THROW UP OH_ NO _I’M GONNA_ DIE—

_Get off of me, you idiot!_ While Emil had never heard the voice before, he somehow knew that it was Lalli’s. A moment later, he realized that he had recoiled from the corpse far enough that he was pressing Lalli so that the fragile mutant was nearly flattened, so he moved off just in time for Agneta to nearly hit him with the safety blanket she had extended to them.

“Quick, under here!”

The two boys didn’t need to be told twice…


	5. At the End of the Known World

Emil was conflicted as he walked off of the Death Train (or what was left of it after the night’s encounter, not that he wanted to think about _that_), Lalli beside him looking off at something only he could see and Tuuri a step or two behind the boys (whether to better direct her cousin or in an attempt to hide was anyone’s guess).

This was the first time in Emil’s life that he had been somewhere that his Uncle and Aunt couldn’t have whoever they wished immediately boiled alive (especially considering how much their retinue of goons had been reduced by the trip here), and Emil wasn’t sure how he felt about it. Now, Emil had been raised from birth with the attitude that feelings as such were unworthy of his consideration or contemplation and certainly unacceptable as motivations for any but the most trivial of actions (another set of precepts Emil routinely violated against his will, reinforcing his gloomy conviction that his discipline was and always would be sub-par). 

On the other hand, Emil knew that he’d much rather think about whether anxiety about his relatives inadvertantly stepping across lines that didn’t exist for them elsewhere or the rather disloyal relief of knowing that they couldn’t have him or anyone else killed at their lightest whim was what he more intensely felt at the moment than about what had happened on the Dalahästen; Emil being Emil, this meant that what had happened on the Dalahästen was the only thing he could think about for more than a few seconds at a time. He hated knowing that he was such a coward as to fall prey to delusions in the wake of the attack—he’d actually imagined hearing Lalli speak to him!

As the three of them walked from the train platform through the large terminal and out to where the others awaited them, Emil noted with relief that Lalli and Tuuri seemed not to be treating him any differently now than they had before the trip, so perhaps he hadn’t disgraced himself utterly—yet.

*

Emil glanced out of the corner of his eye at the stern, proud figure of his new captain and knew that there was _no way_ he would get out of this without disgracing himself utterly. She had made that clear with her introductory remarks to the three of them after Trond had presented them at Attention; actually, simply by calling them to Parade Rest (rather than At Ease, as might be expected) she had made the point clear. No, there would be no pleasing Sigrun Eide aside from sheer perfection—and Emil knew, to his shame, just how imperfect he was.

One aspect of his imperfection was demonstrated when the XO introduced himself as “Mumble Mumsen”, with further mumbles that Emil assumed were some form of the standard pleasantries. Emil’s parents had been informed early on of his tin ear for languages; this extended to _spoken_ (though not _written_) Danish, which obviously continued to elude him. And this was without either of them wearing their masks! Emil’s spirits dropped even lower at the thought.

A few moments later, Emil had found a Dane he _could_ understand—if only because the Dane only ever spoke at a shout that brought echoes from anything nearby. While this Admiral Olsen seemed to respect Trond, he treated Torbjörn and Siv with a disdainful and distant semi-courtesy such as they had hardly ever been on the receiving end of. Again, Emil was torn: they were still family, and despite everything else, Emil still loved them; but the fact remained that they were… well… the Vile Västerströms, and there was no getting around that.

After a moment of confused silence, Torbjörn and Siv decided that they weren’t going to make a big deal of the way the Danes were treating them—yet. Emil knew that the two of them never forgot such things, even when they were compelled to forgive the perpetrators for reasons of policy (usually since they were family or otherwise too valuable to discard lightly).

As they walked, Emil tried to note as much as he could of their surroundings (when his apprehensions over how badly he would fail over the course of the mission would let him). The base seemed to have been recycled from a number of Old Time oil drilling platforms, and had much more open space than Emil would have expected. The breezes this openness allowed, while refreshing, brought another concern to Emil’s mind: weren’t they close enough to the irradiated areas for such a breeze to carry a dangerous amount of radiation with it? Since the Danes didn’t look concerned in the least, Emil figured that the screens that blocked the deadly radiation from the sun also took care of other such things, and tried not to let himself worry about how exposed they were as they walked on.

In fact, most of their walk to where their equipment awaited them was out in the open, unnerving the visitors; the faint shimmer of the protective field was the only reminder that they were safe from the dangers of walking in the sunlight, so Emil couldn’t help but worry about what their chances of survival would be if the field generators failed at an inconvenient moment. Of course, there were those in Sweden who would think this a most convenient moment for such a failure, but they had no more influence over the Danes than Torbjörn and Siv had, or so Emil fervently hoped.

“—THE EDGE OF THE KNOWN WORLD!” The incredibly penetrating shout broke through Emil’s gloomy reflections like a foghorn. “YOU’D BE IMPRESSED BY THE VIEW IF IT WASN’T SO CLOUDY!”

Even through the slight distortion from the shielding field, Emil could tell that the loud Dane was almost certainly correct. Of course, he and the other visitors to the base were glad of the clouds, spurious though their protection against the sun might be. Emil could tell that the overcast was the only thing that had kept Tuuri (and probably Taru as well) from becoming utterly hysterical on the way; he had even caught Torbjörn and Siv giving the sky a few nervous glances now and again.

View or no view, the visitors were more intent on the line of vehicles that stretched before them. “Ours is at the end of this row,” the captain barked (though not _quite_ as loudly as the admiral had). “Let’s get to it and get loading!”

A moment later, the little group reached their assigned vehicle and immediately began the check-out and loading protocols, leaving Emil with no time for further reflection…


	6. Past Is (Some of the) Prologue

NORWAY  
YEAR 0, DAY 0

Dalsnes was a small, remote town more or less forgotten by the world around it and thus perfect as one of the pockets of survival programmed into the unfolding Plan, not that more than a handful of the residents knew of their looming fate.

Specifically, only four people in Dalsnes knew what was planned; they knew because they were to facilitate the transition from “hick town” to “bastion of survival”, and so they met regularly at a local diner in order to keep their schemes as up to date as possible. It had been raining for quite some time when the four conspirators met to plot in their usual booth for the last time, though none of them knew it would be the final time they would need to plot when they walked in.

Once their business was done and conversation had shifted to other matters, it was Gøran who noticed the tell-tale ad in the paper he was perusing. “So, the world will end in three days,” he murmured silently.

“Let it end,” scoffed Ingrid. “As long as we survive, who cares whether the world burns or not? Or when it ends, for that matter?”

Aksel frowned. “It doesn’t give me—any of us—much time to gather anything we might want to save.”

“Like what?” Sigrun asked; she had that “I’m playing dumb so you’ll stick your foot in my bear trap” look on her face that the other three at the table had seen on her face a thousand times before when she was luring some unsuspecting fool into one of her verbal traps.

Aksel turned almost as red as his hair, but wasn’t fool enough to say anything; he knew Sigrun well enough to have known she was wearing that expression were he blindfolded.

“Wait.” Sigrun put on a show of pretending to search her memory. “Are you talking about that crazy old bat in the city?”

“My grandmother has been part of the program since the Council first formulated it,” Aksel gritted out. “You know the reasons for that as well as anyone else here does.”

Sigrun leapt on the response like an orca nomming a baby seal. “Yes: it’s because she was so crazy even then that the Council was too scared to gainsay her to her face, so they put her into the program to keep her off of their backs and in our hair instead of theirs. I see no reason why we should essay any effort to see that she joins the already excessive number of daft oldsters in this refuge before what’s about to happen happens.”

Aksel’s face hardened. “The reason you should essay efforts to remain in her good graces is simple: her enemies are my enemies, and those who would exclude her must also exclude me as well.”

Gøran put in, “Now, Aksel, we know your devotion to your family is such as to be an example to us all--” he shot a snide look at Ingrid here “--but you can’t expect us to put the entire program at risk for the sake of your grandmother.”

At this point, and in an obviously speciously offhanded tone, Sigrun put in, “Well, you could ask Gunnar to get her when he makes his next run, since it’ll probably be his last.”

“An excellent suggestion,” Gøran seconded. “Since he just left, you can catch him when he comes back and ask him then.”

“Oh, that’s yesterday’s paper,” Sigrun pointed out, still with that mock unconcern. “If you really want to save your crazy old grandmother, you’d best—” She broke off when she realized Aksel was already gone.

“Ah, Gunnar.”

The greeting was meant to be faux-casual, but the fact that Aksel was all out of breath made it anything but. Despite the slapstick that was unfolding around the youth who’d addressed him, the boatman swallowed hard as Aksel caught up to him.

“That’s a nice boat you have there. I would be so unhappy if anything happened to it.”

Gunnar sighed. “What do you want me to do for you, Aksel?”

Aksel dropped the pose of insouciance he thought he’d been affecting. “When you get to the city, my grandmother will be waiting for you. Bring here back here in one piece, please and thank you.”

“Ummmmm…” Gunnar looked around, as if an excuse for why he couldn’t pick up the old lady everyone in Dalsnes (except Aksel, naturally) characterized as “scary beyond all reason” would materialize out of the pouring rain. Unfortunately, no such excuse materialized.

“We’ll pick her up if she’s waiting for us, but we won’t wait for her; some of our cargo will be very time-sensitive, as you know.” Gunnar tried to sound firm, but only managed the sort of futile defiance of a child yelling, “I’ll tell!” at a bully.

Despite Gunnar’s specious threat, Aksel smiled. “That’ll do nicely, Gunnar. Have a pleasant trip.”

Once Gunnar had cast off, Aksel pulled out his cell phone and dialed the single number stored in it. “Mormor? The hour is at hand.”

Berit Eide’s response to her grandson’s portentous declaration was less than Aksel had hoped for. “And the minute is at foot! Why should I care about your precious ‘the-hour-is-at-hand’ nonsense?”

Aksel had not expected this from his grandmother. Sigrun, yes; Berit, no. Eventually, he stammered out, “Your place in the community is pivotal.” He was even mostly successful at keeping the whine out of his voice, but not entirely.

“Yes. So pivotal that you wasted an entire day before calling for me.”

Ah. Aksel almost smiled at the knowledge that Berit was mostly being uncooperative because her pride had been wounded by this somewhat belated summons. Now that he knew what the problem was, he could try to work around it, though the pride of the Eides was not something to be treated lightly, especially when wounded.

Well, if it would ease her pride enough for her to comply, his own pride could suffer just a little. “We didn’t get the paper until today, Mormor. That’s why the alert was to be sent out three days in advance in the first place.”

She didn’t reply, but Aksel could almost hear her mulling what he’d said over. At this point, he added the truth into the mix. “I really would be sad if you didn’t get here, Mormor.”

A heavy sigh came through the phone. “Oh, very well.”

Aksel felt something ease in his chest, but he kept it out of his voice when he replied, “Gunnar is on his way to get you. I suggest that you and he not tarry.”

Another sigh came over the line. “Stop trying to sound like your father: you’re hopeless at it and even he couldn’t move me when I didn’t want to be moved. I’ll see you soon, silly birdie.”

Aksel smiled briefly as he closed the phone, but the smile was washed away by an enormous wave that broke over the pier, utterly drenching him.


	7. Past Is (More of the) Prologue

DENMARK

The long journey across the Baltic from the lights and the bustle of Copenhagen to the backwater island of Bornholm was usually tedious for those undertaking it, even on the comfortable and modern ferry; hopefully, what the Nordic Council had told the agent aboard the ferry that he needed to do during this trip would ensure that few if any of the passengers on this ferry would consider this run anything like that norm; indeed, soon enough Bornholm itself would be flung far from its norm by what this agent and his fellows had already helped the Nordic Council to do.

Michael Madsen, Agent of the Nordic Council, thoroughly disliked the need to “put on a show” in order to establish his cover, preferring to keep to the background, as did most of his fellows. Nevertheless, his superiors were insistent, so put on a show he did, though he expected nothing would come of it besides antagonizing all the other passengers and any of the crew who were in earshot.

He certainly didn’t expect another agent to be among the crew, or for her to join in his theatrics—but this didn’t mean that he was displeased by the developing situation by any means.

As certain spurious news and talk show broadcasts were aired in order to set the stage for the coming end, Michael received certain equally spurious calls on his cell phone from his notional boss in a carefully scripted interplay designed to make any observers think that he was merely another arrogant but stranded business traveler, albeit one who cared a great deal for his cat; this last was the only part of the performance grounded in truth. When he called for one of the “boat servants” to take his (again spurious) demand that the ferry return to Copenhagen immediately, the other agent stepped forth to assist.

It had been quite some time since Michael had had to conduct a conversation in Inter-Agency Spy Sign, but he understood the other agent, one Signe Sorensen, well enough, and it seemed that she understood him well enough. As they assumed the cover identities of troublesome passenger and sarcastic steward, their real conversation quickly established that they were both on their way to Bornholm so that they could escape the coming Armageddon; he was fortunate enough to have actual family on the island, so he offered her a temporary shelter with them.

Even as he made the offer, he realized he wouldn’t mind if she took it to be an offer for a more permanent arrangement…

FINLAND

Anyone who compared Saku Hotakainen to a fire-breathing dragon in the presence of those who knew him would usually get at least a funny look in response, since the simple truth was that he was even more likely than his wife Aino to act the peacemaker, trying to get everyone to just get along. When it came to the safety of his family, however, Saku could dig in his heels and set the room on fire with the best of them, and now was one of those times. This time, however, he couldn’t go off as thoroughly as he would have liked, because the people threatening his family… were his family.

“You’re not going to treat my child with your weird woo-woo juice to try to give her super powers!” The scent of stale vomit added to the assault of Saku’s words on his wife’s sister-in-law Tuuli Hollola, but she still bore up under it. Honestly, the whole group was still somewhat amazed that Saku had managed to enter the discussion at all, since immediately before their conversation began he had been huddled on the deck in a little bundle of abject misery which occasionally claimed that it was dying. Despite this, as soon as the subject of their plans for the child Aino was carrying came up, Saku had stormed into the cabin and begun telling his in-laws off in no uncertain terms.

Aino, for her part, always thought Saku was so _cute_ when he got all impotently mad like that. Usually, this rush of feeling was enough for her to drag Saku off to bed, which also usually had the salutary effect of wiping whatever had gotten him so upset from his mind; this time, it was almost enough to get her to tell him a little white lie about what had already happened to the child growing in her womb.

Of course her idiot brother Eino had to go and spoil it all by spilling the beans before Aino could even get a word out. On the other hand, Eino was defending his wife, just as Saku thought he was defending his wife and child, so Aino supposed she would have to forgive him—after a good long while.

The currently fractious family would have a good long while to settle their differences, if what Tuuli had heard from a friend of a friend of a friend (who had been most helpful in getting them some ordinance in the past; imagine having to go to such trouble just to get a bazooka!) was correct. They were all, even Saku, on the boat plowing across the Saimaa lake system to a very remote island the Hollolas had kept ready for the last few decades because they knew that they couldn’t take the chance that this several-times-removed friend was wrong if they wanted the next generation (both the baby Aino was almost ready to bring forth and Tuuli and Eino’s own little boy, Veeti) to survive.

Kaino, Aino’s sister, stepped forward to reassure the father-to-be by reminding him that she’d taken Aino to a reputable ob-gyn for a checkup not three days before, who knew about what Aino had been experimenting with and who had given the baby a clean bill of health after conducting a very specific and very thorough series of tests to check for things that might go wrong with Aino’s “homeopathic treatments”. “Besides,” Kaino continued, “considering everything you and Aino have experimented with in the past, I’d think you’d consider it the safest thing she could have tried.”

To forestall another argument, Tuuli took the opportunity to twist the wheel she had been surreptitiously moving towards, making the boat lurch and sway in a manner calculated to swamp Saku’s temporary fortitude. Amazingly, it didn’t—quite. Though Saku turned very green, he kept his feet. “If anything happens to my little girl,” he croaked in what seemed to his audience like tones of thunder, “I swear I’ll find some way to make you pay.” Throwing a final death glare at Tuuli, he turned around and wobbled his way back out into the rain, where he immediately bent over the rail again.

Aino thought that she had never loved Saku more than at that moment…


End file.
